


Ardent Blossoms and Arguments

by heyitserinface



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ardent Blossom, Cullen has a crush, Dorian and Lavellan are best friends forever, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Vague description of Iron Bull and Dorian sex, flower crown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:08:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4066219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitserinface/pseuds/heyitserinface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian is appalled that Lavellan would waste so much time and effort for just some stupid flower crown, and Lavellan is convinced that Dorian is just jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ardent Blossoms and Arguments

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I got the flower crown in the game, I couldn't decide if I wanted my Inquisitor to wear it or Dorian. It was a real struggle. But then this fic idea popped into my head and I just had to write it down.
> 
> If you haven't gotten the Ardent Blossoms yet or want to know more about them, here's a video:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=345tHSrjnhc
> 
> Also, for those who have read (or are reading) my other fic I'm working on right now, this Inquisitor and Dorian are the same as in that "universe". I was thinking about putting this fic with that one to start a series for this Inquisitor because I really like her and have lots more story ideas for her. But I haven't decided yet...

“All that time, _all_ that energy, wasted.” Dorian ranted.

They were a couple of days into their long trek back to Skyhold and had only just made it out of the Emprise du Lion.  The weather was pleasant, except for the occasional gust of wind that blew down from the mountians, causing the company to huddle down against their mounts.  Lavellan was leading just a few paces ahead, on her trusted Hart; Dorian, Cassandra, and Blackwall close behind.  They currently trotted along a frosted path that meandered slowly at an incline towards the base of the looming mountain range.  For the most part the journey had been fairly peaceful and quiet, except for, of course, Dorian.

Cassandra groaned loudly, causing Dorian to throw her a scowl.  He ranted and complained over the course of the last couple of days and she and Blackwall were on their last nerve. 

“Well, excuse me for being the only person who seems to care,” he huffed.

Lavellan, however, was calm and composed.  “If I would have known you would still be fussing about it, I would have never brought you.” The elf said it loud enough for him to hear, not bothering to turn around to indulge Dorian’s whining.

“My dear, we both know that is a lie.”  Dorian smirked.

She laughed, her soft voice flitting like a lyrical breath.

“I don’t always indulge you. And now I definitely won’t anymore, just to spite you,” she teased. 

They both knew that wasn’t true.  Despite the fact that Lavellan practically had invited Dorian on every expedition since they met, she really didn’t have a choice anymore, not with Vivienne having returned to Orlais and Solas currently Maker-only-knew-where.  Mages seemed to be in short supply for the Inquisition now a days.

“Do not blame me for voicing my opinion.  I just think that that thing wasn’t worth all the effort,” he huffed, grimacing at the flower crown atop the Inquisitor’s head.

The last couple weeks had been spent retrieving that stupid flower crown.  While in the Emerald Graves, Lavellan came across a small, stone cave and claimed that a voice spoke to her.  She became obsessed with it.  She dragged her companions around the Hinterlands collecting rare crystal grace blossoms, all while spouting off about what the voice had told her. It became tiresome, especially since she rattled on and on about how she had to jump on the cave and how a gift would be bestowed upon her and _blah blah blah_ … 

And so, after the crystal grace was offered to the stone cave, Lavellan led them to a secret staircase that descended deep, deep, _deep_ , into the earth, to a dark underground cavern with a single chest. She opened it, the voice ringing in her ears.  And, in her hands, she held the “gift” that they had all worked so hard to get.

“I think it was worth it.” She glanced over her shoulder, smiling coyly at Dorian, the halo of white blossom sitting on top of her silver hair.

Dorian kicked into his horse, picking up pace to trot beside her, leaving Cassandra and Blackwall behind to mutter to themselves. 

“Really? You think those daisies were worth it? Considering that you grow flowers consistently in the Skyhold garden and could easily make a crown like that in five minutes?  That thing was worth the days we spent scouring the Hinterlands for those rare blossoms and the countless hours you spent harassing me in the library, toiling over transcripts and trying to determine where the voice, a voice that only _you_ could hear, had hidden your special prize?”

“Yes, I do.” She said, proudly. “And I wasn’t the only one that could hear the voice.  Cole could, too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that the spirit who speaks in riddles and who likes to reiterate the voices in his head is a reliable source when it comes to defending one’s sanity.”  He grumbled.

Lavellan smirked at him, eyeing him with that mischievous look.  “If I didn’t know any better, Dorian, I’d think you were jealous.”

Dorian nearly choked on a laugh.  “Me? _Jealous?_ ”

“I don’t know. You are making quite a scene about the whole thing,” she pointed out, curtly.  “And you seem unable to stop talking about my crown.”

Her Hart snorted, as if in agreement.  Dorian couldn’t help but grimace when he looked at the beast.  He couldn’t understand why Lavellan loved it so much.

Dorian scoffed, composing his haughty demeanor.  “I had hoped you knew me better than this by now, considering all we have been through. No, if I am going to be envious of any crown, at the very least it will be made of silver and encrusted in sapphires.”

“Is that so?”

“Didn’t you know? Sapphires bring out my eyes.” He batted his eyelashes at her, which won him an exaggerated eye roll.  “Besides,” he continued, “those flowers make you look terribly foolish.”

To most his words might have come across as hurtful, but with her Dorian didn't feel the need to mind his tongue. He knew his Lavellan, and she would not be hurt by his childish insults.  In fact, she did her best to bite against a smile, knowing that if she did grin it would only make Dorian more determined to fight her.

She did look foolish, though. Even though Dorian knew he was acting childish, Lavellan _looked_ childish.  She reminded Dorian of how the young girls in Tevinter looked during times of celebration. They would always braid up their hair with beautiful flowers and ribbons that matched the colors of their dresses.  Yet, the flowers did seem to give her a certain elegance.  But Dorian would never admit that.

Her green eyes rolled upwards, as if trying to examine the crown while it remained on her head.

“Well, I like it,” she said, matching Dorian’s stubborn tone, which he was sure was simply to mock him. “I can actually feel the wind on my face, not like when I’m forced to wear that horrid metal monstrosity.”

“You mean a helmet?” Dorian cocked his eyebrow. “At least that metal monstrosity would protect you.  I don’t know how much protection these weeds will offer.” 

Lavellan was relentlessly stubborn, especially when it came to her armor.  He could recount numerous times when her advisors tried and failed to coax her into heavier armor.  Cullen in particular had spent a good week trying to convince Lavellan to wear a stronger chest plate, which she eventually tried on, only to throw it from the battlements an hour later as she grumbled about the way it pinched against her shoulders and ribs.  Cullen, exasperated, went on and on about how it would protect her (bless that man) but Lavellan wouldn’t budge.

She scowled now, the vallesin across her beautiful, smooth forehead knotting into her brows. “They aren’t weeds, they’re ardent blossoms! And they’re enchanted.”

“Yes, and so are my socks, but you don’t see me going into battle with just _them_ on!” 

Dorian had enchanted his socks after their first visit to the Emprise du Lion and he complained that his toes nearly froze off.  Mentioning his socks didn’t have the desired effect, however, and Cassandra and Blackwall snickered behind him, obviously eavesdropping.

Lavellan shook her head. “I don’t understand how a metal contraption on my head that blocks my field of vision provides more protection than this beautiful enchanted circlet.”

“Ah, the Lavellan idealism,” Dorian sighed.  “I had almost forgotten how you would have us all live, trading our armor for plants and abandoning our civilized advancements to traipse around in the woods, eating leaves and shitting where we slept.”

It was widely acknowledged that if one couldn’t find the Inquisitor while at Skyhold, she was probably out in the surrounding forests hunting or doing whatever else she did out there. Lavellan had spent her whole life on her own in the wilds and had grown to understand and love nature like it was her kin.  She grew antsy when she was in the keep for too long and while out traveling during times of favorable weather she always slept under the stars, away from the tents and curled up in some patch of grass like a little halla.

“You shouldn’t mock, Dorian. It’s unbecoming of you.” She warned.

The Hart eyed Dorian. The creature was dangerously protective of Lavellan, and the mage had a feeling that it hated him as much as he hated it.

“My dear, I am never unbecoming,” he said, brushing his exposed collarbone with his fingers. “I just don’t understand how you can be so content with all that work, just to wind up with that ridiculous thing on your head.”  He gestured towards the crown, white pointed petals intertwined with green leaves.

The whole quest seemed too ridiculous to be real and Dorian couldn’t imagine how Lavellan was so genuinely happy with such a small token after _everything_. But, that was just who she was, and what made her so completely special.  Even though Dorian was aggressively questioning it now he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit to himself that he was a little envious of how Lavellan could look at anything in the world, whether it was a strange-shaped rock on the side of the road or a herd of smelly Druffalo or a circlet of flower blossoms, and immediately find such wonder and beauty in it.

Lavellan took a deep breath. “I guess,” she said, slowly. “We will just have to agree to disagree.”

Dorian hated when she did that.  He always felt like it was her way of quitting their discussions.  Dorian enjoyed winning arguments, but he could never win arguments with Lavellan because she simply never finished them.  In her own way, refusing to let Dorian win was her own way of winning.

He couldn’t help but pout as she slowed down to match pace with Cassandra and Blackwall, engaging in their discussion about shield techniques.  The company slowly made their way up the mountains; the flower crown stayed proudly on Lavellan’s head the entire ride back.

*** 

“You know, for someone who complains as much as you do about the weather, I thought surely you would be outside, enjoying the beautiful day.  Yet, here you are, cloistered away in the darkness with your books.”

He was in his usual nook in the library, nose deep in a book.  He hadn’t quite made it to his chair, and was instead standing while facing the window, soaking up what little light and warmth wafted through. As she came up behind him, he could feel her peering over his shoulder to see what had kept him inside all day.

Lavellan had an act for sneaking up on him, so light footed from all those years of hunting and moving silently. And she loved sneaking up on him, too. In the beginning, before Dorian had come to expect it, she would creep up behind him to whisper in his ear, bursting into giggles when he nearly died of fright.  Now, he was used to it enough to avoid reacting and the look of disappointment on her face each time was enough to make him grin.

“As much as I’d love to frolic with you outdoors, these texts aren’t going to translate themselves. I suppose frolicking will have to wait.” He said over his shoulder, amusement curling at the sides of his mouth.

Lavellan was not tall enough to rest her chin on his shoulder, so instead she came around to lean her head against his bare arm, quizzically eyeing the text in his hands.

“Are you translating Qunlat?”

Dorian’s chest fluttered with slight embarrassment, but he kept his voice even. “Are you surprised?” He asked. “I figured I should brush up on certain terms.  Bull tends to slip in and out of the common tongue when he’s… _excited_.  I’m curious about what he’s been saying.”

Dorian still liked to think of himself as a private person.  Even though everyone at Skyhold knew about his relationship with the Qunari, Dorian still believed that Bull’s and his’ business was something for just them two.  But Lavellan had become such a close friend to him, coaxing pieces of information out of him and on many a drunk occasion he had actually confided in her for advice and shared some very, _very_ detailed stories about being bent over a table, being pinned tightly and held with ropes, having to grip those large horns for extra support...

She gave a breathy laugh. “I’m pretty sure that what he’s been saying isn’t in one of those old stuffy things.  You should try something a little… naughtier.” She winked.

Dorian snapped the book shut and looked down at her, his cheeks growing pink.  She watched him smugly; the green of her eyes glinting as she victoriously got the reaction she had hoped from him.

Maker, how he adored that smug little face.

“Is there a reason you have graced me with your impeccable company or did you just come to say lewd things about my sex life?”  Dorian sat in his chair, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I have something for you,” she chided, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Dorian realized that her hands her behind her back, hiding whatever it was.  She seemed so excited, so child-like.  Doran had to stifle a chuckle.

“What-“

Before he could even ask, Lavellan pulled a flower crown from behind her back, holding it delicately between her fingers.

“I made it. For you,” she said, beaming.

“You… made that?” Dorian asked, slowly.

She nodded.

“For me?”

One side of her mouth curled impishly.  “Mostly to prove you wrong, about the being able to make it in five minutes comment. It took me little over an hour, thank you. But also, because I remember how fretfully jealous you were when I found mine.”

Unlike Lavellan’s, this crown was made of soft-looking purple flowers, with bright blooms of blue woven between, and tendrils of delicate vines wrapping around the base.

It had been weeks since they had found Lavellan's crown deep within the earth, and if she hadn’t insisted on wearing the stupid thing _everywhere_ Dorian might have forgotten about it all together.

Dorian eyed it before smirking.  “Your memory has failed you. I was not jealous. And I believe I said I preferred things with sapphires.”

She looked down at the crown in her hands.  Her own smirk faltered and her bounce deflated.  She watched Dorian, as he began to twirl the end of his moustache, hiding any sign of his own leer.

They watched each other for a few seconds, before Lavellan finally shrugged.

“Well, if you don’t like it, I’ll just have to give it to someone else.”

“What?”

She moved slowly towards the staircase, swinging the crown gently by her side as she sauntered. “It's okay, Dorian.  I’m sure Bull would like it,” she said. “In fact, he might never take it off. I had Dagna fix it up with a magic enhancement, but I’m sure she’d be willing to trade it out for some sort of attack enchantment.”

“Are you joking? Are you seriously going to give my gift to Bull?”  Dorian stammered, leaning forward in his chair.

“You don’t want it…” She placed a hand on the banister, ready to descend.

“Technically, I never said I didn’t want it.  I simply pointed out that I preferred sapphires.”  Dorian didn’t exactly call after her, but he did make sure it was loud enough for her to hear.

It worked, because she stopped and turned to face him. 

“So, you do want it then?” She slowly walked back towards him. Her brows were knitted together in confusion, but under them her eyes twinkled mischievously.

Dorian shook his head. “I see what you are doing, and you and I both know I am far too proud to say such words.  But, I will admit that just the thought of Bull struggling to slip that crown over his horns is infuriating enough for me prevent it.”

She smiled at that, a genuine smile, beautiful and bright and completely free of any snark that usually came from their banters.  It made Dorian’s heart swell with affection.

“Do you promise to always wear it?”  She asked, warmly.

“I will make no such promise,” he said.  “It is my gift to do with as I wish.  If that isn’t satisfactory to you, then you should have thought about that before making it for me.” He didn’t mean a word of it and he could tell that she knew it, too.

“Fair enough.” She held the crown out for him. “Will you at least wear it right now?”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Very well.  Only because it happens to match my outfit today.”

Lavellan beamed. She gingerly placed the flowers on top of Dorian’s head, careful not to mess up his hair.  She leaned back to admire her work, nodding contently.

“Stunning,” she said, pleased. “You truly are a magnificent creature, Dorian Pavus.”

“And _you_ are a pain in my arse.”

She laughed as she bent down, pressing a kiss to his cheek, soft and warm. He leaned into her touch, sighing contently.

She then left, happily bouncing her way down the stairs as Dorian opened his book again, leaving the flowers on his head.


End file.
